Villainfucker

Firecracker was wide awake when you peered into the room for your bi-hourly checkup.

A smile instantly spilled over your mouth, bright and full of hope.

"Hey, you," you said cheerfully.

"Where were you?" she asked with a pout that had no business being that adorable.

"Kitchen. I was eating dinner."

Firecracker's nap stretched into full-fledged sleep. As much as you wanted to stay with her, you couldn't spend hours in bed. There were things you had to do, chores you had to finish.

You'd compromised by leaving the bedroom door open and checking up on her every thirty minutes. The furthest you'd gone was to your front yard, to pick up the garbage bags containing her belongings and lock the gate.

All the while, she was within earshot.

If she needed you, all she had to do was call your name.

You'd left her phone, that you'd removed from her person when you'd helped her take her clothes off, on the bedside table, within reach if she preferred to utilize that form of communication.

You sat next to Firecracker and gently brushed the hair off her forehead. She was warm to the touch, but not feverish. A healthy flush pinked her cheeks.

"I didn't leave you," you said. You didn't stay in bed, but you were still with her. You were still here. "I told you I'd never."

She leaned into your palm, satisfied with your response. Certain of the truth in your words.

"Feeling better?" you inquired.

"Not by much," she said earnestly.

"Is your heart still…?" Malfunctioning. Drumming like an engine right in her ears.

"Mm-hmm," Firecracker said with a nod.

"Does it hurt?" you asked.

"No. I just feel like shit," she said oh, so eloquently.

"Can I…?" you trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence, eyes trailing down to her chest.

"Go for it, babydoll."

Moving aside the blanket, you slowly lowered your head to Firecracker's chest.

Her heartbeat was low; a tad too low for your liking, but then, you were no doctor. The rhythm was slightly off balance, like typing on a keyboard with a missing key.

How bad that was, you didn't know. You didn't dare imagine.

But it wasn't good.

That, you knew with utmost certainty.

"It's a bit… uneven," you said, worried but doing your best not to show it. Firecracker was already in a bad way. You freaking out would only make it worse. "Do those meds have any other side effects?"

She said nothing.

You looked up, expecting to meet her gaze, only to find it glued to the other side of the room.

"Misty?" you inquired, suspicious. What didn't she want you to know? What was she hiding? "You can tell me."

You stopped yourself before saying you wouldn't be mad. Chances were, you were going to be mad, very much so, because Misty Tucker Gray was an established idiot and she most likely did something else stupid that she knew you would object to.

"The meds…" She swallowed, hesitant. The words heavy on her tongue. "They enlarge the heart."

You blinked. "They-They what?"

Surely, you'd misheard her.

Surely.

"Just a tiny little bit," she said, like that made it better.

It was like a slap to the face.

If only she had slapped you.

"You fucking idiot!" you exclaimed, more harshly than intended.

Firecracker flinched as if struck. As if she expected you to throw her off the bed and out of your house.

It stung, even if a part of you wanted to scream all your frustrations into her face.

"You said it yourself," she said in a low voice, blinking back unshed tears. "I was killing myself for someone who didn't give a fuck about me."

And now you were beating her over the head with it. Kicking her while she was at her lowest.

You brushed your hand against her cheek. A silent apology. A promise that she had nothing to fear.

As angry as you were, you would never hurt her. You would never intentionally cause her pain.

Firecracker breathed out in relief, relaxing under your touch.

"When's the last time you took the meds?" you asked.

"This morning."

Your heart sank.

Even sick as a dog, she'd felt pressured to take the meds. She had to prove her loyalty; Homelander had to come first.

Above her health.

Above her fucking life.

Only to be thrown away like trash because those very same meds made her too sick to be of any value to him.

You wanted to strangle the bastard. You wanted to freeze him to the bone and shatter him into pieces that could never be put together again.

The way that he shattered Firecracker.

Not that she was blameless in this. If she wasn't such a fucking sycophant, none of this would have happened.

All she had to do was call. You would have picked her up, no questions asked. You would have run away with her, if that was what it took to get out from Vought's clutches.

Instead, like the power-hungry idiot that she was, she debased herself until it brought her to the brink of death.

You wanted to call her that to her face, but, deciding not to stir up tensions again, you said, "Let's give it some time and see how it goes."

What else was there to do? You couldn't help her. You couldn't take away the discomfort, the weakness, the loss of breath that came with heart damage.

The only thing you could do was wait it out and hope that it wasn't permanent.

Or, if it was (it most definitely was, but you didn't dare dwell on it for too long), that it wasn't too bad.

Firecracker murmured in agreement, then said, "It's like I got a timer in my ear. It's incessant. I can't focus on anything but the constant ticking."

"It's gonna pass," you assured her; something you had no business doing, but it was better than offering nothing.

Whatever she was about to utter got swallowed by a coughing fit that pushed its way out of her throat and took over like it owned her.

Firecracker tried to catch her breath, desperate to hold on to some oxygen, to regain some control; a useless struggle for the barrage of rasping coughs dug its invisible claws in and refused to let go.

Instinctively, you pulled her up into a sitting position and threw an arm around her for support.

The action did little good; her body was intent on emptying itself out of every remnant of air it had left.

"I'm-I'm sorry," she said, pushing the words out in-between wheezes that rubbed her throat raw as minced meat.

"Don't be," you told her intensely, making sure the words left the intended impact.

She had nothing to apologize for.

It wasn't pleasant to be coughed upon, to have snot and saliva particles splash all over you, but it wasn't the end of the world.

Firecracker was sick.

She couldn't help it.

What were you going to do — order her to stop?

You were certain she wished she could more than you did.

"I'm disgusting," she rasped as the fit subsided, hungrily gasping as much air as she could. Afraid that she wouldn't be able to get more, that she would be forced to go without. "You-You should move away."

"You're sick," you corrected. "And you're not contagious. I'll live."

Firecracker took a long moment to compose herself, to regain the ability to speak without painful pauses.

"Don't worry," you assured her. "I'm a big girl. I can handle some germs." Jokingly, you added, "God knows we've exchanged more."

Goodness, did you miss it.

Unfortunately for you, she saw you as nothing more of a friend. The benefits were just a nice bonus. A cherry on top of this friendship that was a relationship in everything but name because Misty Tucker Gray didn't date women and she'd be damned if anyone said otherwise.

As angry as the situation made you, you had no one to blame but yourself.

This was exactly what you'd signed up for: friendship with perks sprinkled in here and there. No attachments. No obligations.

It wasn't Firecracker's fault that your feelings for her grew into something more.

"Homelander had me sit far away," she said in a small voice.

A pang of sympathy squeezed your heart.

"You should've called me to come pick you up," you told her, teeth grit in anger, in sheer frustration that she allowed that man to make her into his punching bag when you were right there, willing to give her the world.

"No one does a runner on him," Firecracker said with a shake of her head. "I saw him rip a man in half."

Which was exactly why you'd told her to never get involved with him.

If only she'd listened.

If only she hadn't been such a fucking idiot.

"Well, you're free of him now," you said, clinging to the smallest silver lining.

She was horribly sick and had ruined her health to the point of no return, but she was free.

All she had to do now was survive.

You swore to do everything in your power to ensure that she did.

You cupped her cheeks and tilted her head to get her to look at you, your stare intense, serious. "Promise me you won't try to go back."

Firecracker blinked, hurt by the implication. "You think, after this—"

You cut her off, not in the mood for games, "You last took the pills this morning. You've been on TV and spouting bullshit he fed you while actively dying. I'm willing to overlook a lot. But I can't have you try to worm your way back to him."

She averted her eyes, avoiding your gaze. Avoiding the truth staring right at her.

"Misty, look at me," you ordered sternly, and, to your surprise, she did as told. "If you go back, he is going to kill you. He is going to finish the job."

Sage had said as much. It was obvious that had been Homelander's goal all along.

He wanted to be worshipped. Adored.

What better way to achieve that than to have his most loyal cohort lose her life whilst trying to appease him?

Firecracker was nothing but a tool to him. An endless source of sustenance for his ego.

None the wiser, she fed right into it.

A foolish, willing victim.

"I can't lose you," you said earnestly.

She didn't have to be yours. You were more than happy to love her from afar.

All you needed was for her to be alive.

Firecracker swallowed a lump in her raw throat, and, with firm resolve that reflected on her face, said, "I ain't going back. I promise."

A smile, bright as the sun, spilled over your face. You laid the softest of kisses to her forehead, then rested your own against it, your eyes falling shut.

If only you could stay this way forever. Just the two of you, safe with each other. No sickness. No threat of death looming over you.

Reality was a cruel mistress.

"See? You're not disgusting" you said as you pulled apart and gifted her another kiss, this one to her cheek. "You do need a shower, but, other than that, it's all good."

Firecracker rolled her eyes. "You really know how to cheer a girl up."

"I try," you said with a grin. "Maybe you'd cheer up if you ate something."

A cheap attempt, but it was worth a try.

"I ain't hungry."

Your face grew serious. "Misty, you have to eat."

You hated ruining the mood, but if she wanted to get better, she needed to get something other than water and pain pills in her stomach.

"I can't," Firecracker insisted with a shake of her head.

"Can you try?" you asked. "Just a few bites? If it's not working out, you can stop."

She mulled it over in her head for a long moment, then sighed in resignation. "Fine."

You awarded her with another smile. "It's gonna help."

She allowed you to pull her to her wobbly feet and lead her to the kitchen. Her legs were still as useless as they were earlier, her knees buckling under her weight with each step.

You tried not to dwell on it. She was still in the throes of her illness. The pills that had done this to her were still in her veins, in her flesh, in every nook and cranny of her person. It would take time for their effects to subside — time that was slipping through your fingers with each raspy breath she took.

You wanted her healthy now.

If only it were that easy.

You started rummaging through your fridge in search of something light and easy to prepare while Firecracker stayed seated at the table. Her head was in her hands, slumped forward, dangling weakly from her neck.

"I'm dog tired," she drawled.

"You just slept," you said.

She murmured something indecipherable, and then said, "I'm getting cold again."

Fuck!

You grabbed a can of soup and, when she approved it, poured it into a bowl and popped it on the stove for a quick warm up. Then you rushed to her side and stuck a palm to her forehead.

She was warm. Not as scorching as earlier, but close. Small beads of sweat bubbled over her skin that had once again started losing the little color it had.

Shit!

"I'll get you some Tylenol after you eat, okay?" you promised, earning you a tiny nod in lieu of a response.

While you waited for the soup to warm, you summoned the cold to your hand once more. It was temporary relief, but Firecracker welcomed it, leaning her head back to rest it on your chest as you held her.

It warmed your heart, how much she trusted you. How vulnerable she was comfortable being around you.

In her very own way, she loved you.

Not the way you wanted her to, but as a friend. A confidante.

That was enough for you.

We didn't always get what we wanted.

Firecracker moaned in displeasure when you went to fetch the finished soup. If she weren't in such a bad way, you would've found it adorable. The woman could be such a brat. A cute one, but a brat nonetheless.

You stood beside her as she ate. At first you helped guide the spoon clutched in her trembling hand to her mouth before you finally convinced her to leave the job to you.

She could just sit and relax. You didn't mind taking care of her. Didn't mind helping her with mundane tasks. Didn't mind doing them for her.

There was no shame in needing assistance. She was ill. You were here. It was that simple.

Firecracker had a few spoonfuls before deciding she couldn't take any more. It was much less that you hoped she would eat, but it was something. Some food intake was better than none.

As promised, you didn't pressure her. Instead, you put the spoon down and discarded it in the sink alongside the plate before hurrying to grab Tylenol. You only had a few tablets left, the supply running dangerously low.

It was okay, you assured yourself. It would be taken care of.

You had a plan.

Firecracker let you tuck her into bed without a fuss. You spooned her from behind, your arm around her as your cool, frosty hand was pressed to her forehead. Keeping her fever at bay. Fighting it until the pills kicked in and took it away.

"Comfortable?" you asked, just to be sure.

"Mm-hmm," she confirmed.

You laid a kiss to the back of her head. "Sleep well. Tomorrow's gonna be better."

You were going to make sure of it.

Firecracker had sacrificed so much for Vought. Her health, her reputation, the relationships with the people around her.

It was time they paid her back.

She was owed that much.

"And you'll be here?" she asked in her smallest, shattered glass voice. Cautiously hopeful, as if something were about to swoop in and take it away just as it reached her grasp.

"Always," you vowed.

That was all she needed to hear before allowing herself to drift off to slumber. Her breathing was uneven even as she slept, matching the irregular rhythm of her heart, but it was tender, calm.

She was at peace.

If only it could last forever.

If only morning didn't promise another day of struggle.

*****

Firecracker was wide awake when you peered into the room for your bi-hourly checkup.

A smile instantly spilled over your mouth, bright and full of hope.

"Hey, you," you said cheerfully.

"Where were you?" she asked with a pout that had no business being that adorable.

"Kitchen. I was eating dinner."

Firecracker's nap stretched into full-fledged sleep. As much as you wanted to stay with her, you couldn't spend hours in bed. There were things you had to do, chores you had to finish.

You'd compromised by leaving the bedroom door open and checking up on her every thirty minutes. The furthest you'd gone was to your front yard, to pick up the garbage bags containing her belongings and lock the gate.

All the while, she was within earshot.

If she needed you, all she had to do was call your name.

You'd left her phone, that you'd removed from her person when you'd helped her take her clothes off, on the bedside table, within reach if she preferred to utilize that form of communication.

You sat next to Firecracker and gently brushed the hair off her forehead. She was warm to the touch, but not feverish. A healthy flush pinked her cheeks.

"I didn't leave you," you said. You didn't stay in bed, but you were still with her. You were still here. "I told you I'd never."

She leaned into your palm, satisfied with your response. Certain of the truth in your words.

"Feeling better?" you inquired.

"Not by much," she said earnestly.

"Is your heart still…?" Malfunctioning. Drumming like an engine right in her ears.

"Mm-hmm," Firecracker said with a nod.

"Does it hurt?" you asked.

"No. I just feel like shit," she said oh, so eloquently.

"Can I…?" you trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence, eyes trailing down to her chest.

"Go for it, babydoll."

Moving aside the blanket, you slowly lowered your head to Firecracker's chest.

Her heartbeat was low; a tad too low for your liking, but then, you were no doctor. The rhythm was slightly off balance, like typing on a keyboard with a missing key.

How bad that was, you didn't know. You didn't dare imagine.

But it wasn't good.

That, you knew with utmost certainty.

"It's a bit… uneven," you said, worried but doing your best not to show it. Firecracker was already in a bad way. You freaking out would only make it worse. "Do those meds have any other side effects?"

She said nothing.

You looked up, expecting to meet her gaze, only to find it glued to the other side of the room.

"Misty?" you inquired, suspicious. What didn't she want you to know? What was she hiding? "You can tell me."

You stopped yourself before saying you wouldn't be mad. Chances were, you were going to be mad, very much so, because Misty Tucker Gray was an established idiot and she most likely did something else stupid that she knew you would object to.

"The meds…" She swallowed, hesitant. The words heavy on her tongue. "They enlarge the heart."

You blinked. "They-They what?"

Surely, you'd misheard her.

Surely.

"Just a tiny little bit," she said, like that made it better.

It was like a slap to the face.

If only she had slapped you.

"You fucking idiot!" you exclaimed, more harshly than intended.

Firecracker flinched as if struck. As if she expected you to throw her off the bed and out of your house.

It stung, even if a part of you wanted to scream all your frustrations into her face.

"You said it yourself," she said in a low voice, blinking back unshed tears. "I was killing myself for someone who didn't give a fuck about me."

And now you were beating her over the head with it. Kicking her while she was at her lowest.

You brushed your hand against her cheek. A silent apology. A promise that she had nothing to fear.

As angry as you were, you would never hurt her. You would never intentionally cause her pain.

Firecracker breathed out in relief, relaxing under your touch.

"When's the last time you took the meds?" you asked.

"This morning."

Your heart sank.

Even sick as a dog, she'd felt pressured to take the meds. She had to prove her loyalty; Homelander had to come first.

Above her health.

Above her fucking life.

Only to be thrown away like trash because those very same meds made her too sick to be of any value to him.

You wanted to strangle the bastard. You wanted to freeze him to the bone and shatter him into pieces that could never be put together again.

The way that he shattered Firecracker.

Not that she was blameless in this. If she wasn't such a fucking sycophant, none of this would have happened.

All she had to do was call. You would have picked her up, no questions asked. You would have run away with her, if that was what it took to get out from Vought's clutches.

Instead, like the power-hungry idiot that she was, she debased herself until it brought her to the brink of death.

You wanted to call her that to her face, but, deciding not to stir up tensions again, you said, "Let's give it some time and see how it goes."

What else was there to do? You couldn't help her. You couldn't take away the discomfort, the weakness, the loss of breath that came with heart damage.

The only thing you could do was wait it out and hope that it wasn't permanent.

Or, if it was (it most definitely was, but you didn't dare dwell on it for too long), that it wasn't too bad.

Firecracker murmured in agreement, then said, "It's like I got a timer in my ear. It's incessant. I can't focus on anything but the constant ticking."

"It's gonna pass," you assured her; something you had no business doing, but it was better than offering nothing.

Whatever she was about to utter got swallowed by a coughing fit that pushed its way out of her throat and took over like it owned her.

Firecracker tried to catch her breath, desperate to hold on to some oxygen, to regain some control; a useless struggle for the barrage of rasping coughs dug its invisible claws in and refused to let go.

Instinctively, you pulled her up into a sitting position and threw an arm around her for support.

The action did little good; her body was intent on emptying itself out of every remnant of air it had left.

"I'm-I'm sorry," she said, pushing the words out in-between wheezes that rubbed her throat raw as minced meat.

"Don't be," you told her intensely, making sure the words left the intended impact.

She had nothing to apologize for.

It wasn't pleasant to be coughed upon, to have snot and saliva particles splash all over you, but it wasn't the end of the world.

Firecracker was sick.

She couldn't help it.

What were you going to do — order her to stop?

You were certain she wished she could more than you did.

"I'm disgusting," she rasped as the fit subsided, hungrily gasping as much air as she could. Afraid that she wouldn't be able to get more, that she would be forced to go without. "You-You should move away."

"You're sick," you corrected. "And you're not contagious. I'll live."

Firecracker took a long moment to compose herself, to regain the ability to speak without painful pauses.

"Don't worry," you assured her. "I'm a big girl. I can handle some germs." Jokingly, you added, "God knows we've exchanged more."

Goodness, did you miss it.

Unfortunately for you, she saw you as nothing more of a friend. The benefits were just a nice bonus. A cherry on top of this friendship that was a relationship in everything but name because Misty Tucker Gray didn't date women and she'd be damned if anyone said otherwise.

As angry as the situation made you, you had no one to blame but yourself.

This was exactly what you'd signed up for: friendship with perks sprinkled in here and there. No attachments. No obligations.

It wasn't Firecracker's fault that your feelings for her grew into something more.

"Homelander had me sit far away," she said in a small voice.

A pang of sympathy squeezed your heart.

"You should've called me to come pick you up," you told her, teeth grit in anger, in sheer frustration that she allowed that man to make her into his punching bag when you were right there, willing to give her the world.

"No one does a runner on him," Firecracker said with a shake of her head. "I saw him rip a man in half."

Which was exactly why you'd told her to never get involved with him.

If only she'd listened.

If only she hadn't been such a fucking idiot.

"Well, you're free of him now," you said, clinging to the smallest silver lining.

She was horribly sick and had ruined her health to the point of no return, but she was free.

All she had to do now was survive.

You swore to do everything in your power to ensure that she did.

You cupped her cheeks and tilted her head to get her to look at you, your stare intense, serious. "Promise me you won't try to go back."

Firecracker blinked, hurt by the implication. "You think, after this—"

You cut her off, not in the mood for games, "You last took the pills this morning. You've been on TV and spouting bullshit he fed you while actively dying. I'm willing to overlook a lot. But I can't have you try to worm your way back to him."

She averted her eyes, avoiding your gaze. Avoiding the truth staring right at her.

"Misty, look at me," you ordered sternly, and, to your surprise, she did as told. "If you go back, he is going to kill you. He is going to finish the job."

Sage had said as much. It was obvious that had been Homelander's goal all along.

He wanted to be worshipped. Adored.

What better way to achieve that than to have his most loyal cohort lose her life whilst trying to appease him?

Firecracker was nothing but a tool to him. An endless source of sustenance for his ego.

None the wiser, she fed right into it.

A foolish, willing victim.

"I can't lose you," you said earnestly.

She didn't have to be yours. You were more than happy to love her from afar.

All you needed was for her to be alive.

Firecracker swallowed a lump in her raw throat, and, with firm resolve that reflected on her face, said, "I ain't going back. I promise."

A smile, bright as the sun, spilled over your face. You laid the softest of kisses to her forehead, then rested your own against it, your eyes falling shut.

If only you could stay this way forever. Just the two of you, safe with each other. No sickness. No threat of death looming over you.

Reality was a cruel mistress.

"See? You're not disgusting" you said as you pulled apart and gifted her another kiss, this one to her cheek. "You do need a shower, but, other than that, it's all good."

Firecracker rolled her eyes. "You really know how to cheer a girl up."

"I try," you said with a grin. "Maybe you'd cheer up if you ate something."

A cheap attempt, but it was worth a try.

"I ain't hungry."

Your face grew serious. "Misty, you have to eat."

You hated ruining the mood, but if she wanted to get better, she needed to get something other than water and pain pills in her stomach.

"I can't," Firecracker insisted with a shake of her head.

"Can you try?" you asked. "Just a few bites? If it's not working out, you can stop."

She mulled it over in her head for a long moment, then sighed in resignation. "Fine."

You awarded her with another smile. "It's gonna help."

She allowed you to pull her to her wobbly feet and lead her to the kitchen. Her legs were still as useless as they were earlier, her knees buckling under her weight with each step.

You tried not to dwell on it. She was still in the throes of her illness. The pills that had done this to her were still in her veins, in her flesh, in every nook and cranny of her person. It would take time for their effects to subside — time that was slipping through your fingers with each raspy breath she took.

You wanted her healthy now.

If only it were that easy.

You started rummaging through your fridge in search of something light and easy to prepare while Firecracker stayed seated at the table. Her head was in her hands, slumped forward, dangling weakly from her neck.

"I'm dog tired," she drawled.

"You just slept," you said.

She murmured something indecipherable, and then said, "I'm getting cold again."

Fuck!

You grabbed a can of soup and, when she approved it, poured it into a bowl and popped it on the stove for a quick warm up. Then you rushed to her side and stuck a palm to her forehead.

She was warm. Not as scorching as earlier, but close. Small beads of sweat bubbled over her skin that had once again started losing the little color it had.

Shit!

"I'll get you some Tylenol after you eat, okay?" you promised, earning you a tiny nod in lieu of a response.

While you waited for the soup to warm, you summoned the cold to your hand once more. It was temporary relief, but Firecracker welcomed it, leaning her head back to rest it on your chest as you held her.

It warmed your heart, how much she trusted you. How vulnerable she was comfortable being around you.

In her very own way, she loved you.

Not the way you wanted her to, but as a friend. A confidante.

That was enough for you.

We didn't always get what we wanted.

Firecracker moaned in displeasure when you went to fetch the finished soup. If she weren't in such a bad way, you would've found it adorable. The woman could be such a brat. A cute one, but a brat nonetheless.

You stood beside her as she ate. At first you helped guide the spoon clutched in her trembling hand to her mouth before you finally convinced her to leave the job to you.

She could just sit and relax. You didn't mind taking care of her. Didn't mind helping her with mundane tasks. Didn't mind doing them for her.

There was no shame in needing assistance. She was ill. You were here. It was that simple.

Firecracker had a few spoonfuls before deciding she couldn't take any more. It was much less that you hoped she would eat, but it was something. Some food intake was better than none.

As promised, you didn't pressure her. Instead, you put the spoon down and discarded it in the sink alongside the plate before hurrying to grab Tylenol. You only had a few tablets left, the supply running dangerously low.

It was okay, you assured yourself. It would be taken care of.

You had a plan.

Firecracker let you tuck her into bed without a fuss. You spooned her from behind, your arm around her as your cool, frosty hand was pressed to her forehead. Keeping her fever at bay. Fighting it until the pills kicked in and took it away.

"Comfortable?" you asked, just to be sure.

"Mm-hmm," she confirmed.

You laid a kiss to the back of her head. "Sleep well. Tomorrow's gonna be better."

You were going to make sure of it.

Firecracker had sacrificed so much for Vought. Her health, her reputation, the relationships with the people around her.

It was time they paid her back.

She was owed that much.

"And you'll be here?" she asked in her smallest, shattered glass voice. Cautiously hopeful, as if something were about to swoop in and take it away just as it reached her grasp.

"Always," you vowed.

That was all she needed to hear before allowing herself to drift off to slumber. Her breathing was uneven even as she slept, matching the irregular rhythm of her heart, but it was tender, calm.

She was at peace.

If only it could last forever.

If only morning didn't promise another day of struggle.

*****